We Are Just Kindling, My Dear
by chan-sol
Summary: Blaine comes home to find Kurt drunk and the apartment a mess. What happened while he was gone and why does everything feel hopeless? Does love live forever? Klaine AU/Future!fic. Please read and review! Thanks! Warnings: Character death, smut, prescription drug abuse, cursing, and whatever dark thing I think of later.
1. Chapter 1

_**Hi! Sorry if there's any confusion or grammatical errors. Warnings: Character death, mentions of suicidal thoughts, smut, prescription drug abuse, cursing, and whatever dark thing I think of later. This is a Klaine fic, but there are mentions of extramarital relationships-who, I have yet to decide. Hope you enjoy and thanks for reading! **__**:) **_

Blaine is rumpled from the long workday when he enters the downtown, New York apartment. Trench coat slung over his arms, tie hanging lackadaisically from his unbuttoned collar; Blaine is the depiction of exhausted. He needs a beer or coffee, something strong to overpower the numbers buzzing in his skull. This is a routine, a humdrum pattern his days have attained. Wake up before the sun to arrive at the studio across town, thumb through finances and messages before his brain is able to absorb anything, and proceed through meetings and paperwork until his aching brain remind him of a comfortable bed, waiting at home. From there he returns to take a small break before beginning again the next morning.

Usually, around this time, there is a stove emitting seductive aromas in the air, there is another set of keys nestled in the bowl and a different coat hung by their coatrack. Usually the rattling in the kitchen is a soothing relief, a breath of life from his office. Usually.

"Kurt? I'm home, I got the eggs you wanted." Blaine calls from the entryway.

After placing his belongings by the door, he walks further into the one bedroom, one and half bath apartment.

"Kurt?" He repeats, receiving no reply.

There is a constant murmuring coming from the kitchen, it accompanies a shuffle of movement and heavy breathing.

"Kurt?"

Blaine rounds the kitchen, finding his first love hunched over the bottom cabinet. Admittedly, if the mood were different he would be admiring the pert ass in unabashed lust. However, given Kurt's undistinguished mutterings and the fact that he still seems oblivious to Blaine's appearance, Blaine does not follow his sexual drive.

"Kurt, are you okay?"

Finally, his husband perks up. His head turns; crystal eyes alight with an innocence seldom witnessed in their middle age. Kurt's eyebrows are peaked with either shock or guilt, some form of emotion Blaine cannot determine.

"You're home." He states, body still folded into the cabinet.

"I am. What are you doing, sweetheart?"

Kurt returns to his tasks, an apparent search for…something.

"We're out of gin." Kurt says, frustration now painting his tone.

This, my dear reader, is the red light.

Although connected with an inherent and unconditional love, Kurt and Blaine are not the love-struck teenagers they used to be. True, they are still very much in love, but there comes an instant within age where being in love is the same as breathing air. It's natural and instinctive, also (unfortunately) taken for granted. Kurt does not debate his sexual appeal and Blaine does not strive for Kurt's appraisal. There are no random gifts or untested waters, no coquettish games and fantasies of lavish homes with pets and walk-in closets. No real romance, just…relationship.

However, that is not to say they fight. In fact, ever since Blaine's incidental adultery seven years ago, neither man has battled for anything concerning the other. They are not necessarily happy, just comfortable. Still, not once in their entire existence has Blaine nor Kurt ever drank any other alcohol outside of beer or a martini.

This is when Blaine notices Kurt.

Kurt is…odd. His face, although naturally pale, has taken on a ghostly hue. His hair, still swept in auburn waves, seems strangely duller, his clothes almost imperceptibly creased with wrinkles. Nevertheless, it is his eyes that signify a peculiarity.

They are aquamarine. Mixtures of blue, green, and even gold swirling like dancers in the spotlight. However lining the usually vibrant irises is a noticeable pinky-red color. They are bloodshot and abnormally dazed.

"Are you…. drunk?" Blaine questions, taken aback. His eyes flit over Kurt's still-ferreting form.

Kurt doesn't respond. His arms move quickly, his shoulders stay tense and rigid.

"Kurt, stop." Blaine says, lifting his husband from the obviously important hunt.

Kurt resignedly ceases, looking at Blaine with annoyance.

"Answer me. Are you drunk."

As if by cue, Kurt belches a burp. His eyes waywardly try to focus on Blaine's worried gaze, but can't seem to function. Inebriated and tired, Kurt attempts to disregard the tangible pity radiating from Blaine.

"No."

"Really? Then why do you smell like liquor and beer?...why can't you stand straight?"

"Why do you care?" He retorts, flapping off Blaine's grip on his shoulders. He turns out of the kitchen, cranky and tilting.

Blaine follows him exasperated. Subtly he comes up from behind, caressing Kurt's back with gentle hands and maneuvering him to the bedroom door.

"Come on, I think it's time for bed." He says parentally.

"I'm not tired."

"Doesn't matter, you're drunk and the sooner you're asleep the sooner you won't be."

"Ugh, you are so annoying."

Blaine opens the bedroom door, only to be met with one of the most surprising and indescribably scary scenes he will ever see.

Bottles litter the nightstands; the bed is in disarray with the blankets flopping carelessly off the side, the handheld phone lies in front of the mirror, which exhibits a multitude of cracks and shards. And staining the carpet underneath the broken mirror are unsettling drops of blood.

Kurt seems unaware as he climbs into the bed.

"What happened?" Blaine asks, dumbstruck.

He doesn't get an answer, for in minutes of lying down, Kurt is soundly asleep.

Blaine walks towards his unconscious husband. Finally realizing the jagged cuts on his palms and the gray shadows of his expression. He carefully covers him and lays a light kiss on his temple.

Sighing, he walks out of the bedroom, unable to make ends of the state of his surroundings. He doesn't notice the pills under Kurt's pillow, or the silk tie hanging on the bathroom door, which incidentally belongs to neither man.

_**Please review and thanks for reading!**_

_**TBC**_

_**P.S. I'll try to make my posts longer in the future**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**So, I hope you like the story so far. I'll try to make my future posts more lengthy. Also, updates might not be as quick as this, so...yeah. Okay thanks for reading and please don't forget to review, even if it's criticism.**_

_**PS. I got a really awesome review from a guest and I wanted to thank them, because it literally made my week. So, thank you especially to Littleyellowchrysanthemum. Also thanks to anyone who favorites or followed or commented, it means a lot.**_

They are nestled into each other; legs intertwined like their heartbeats, skin-caressing skin, and sticky bodies thrown into a liminal state of being awake and sedated. It's amazing.

"I missed you" Kurt utters into Blaine's neck, a delighted smile gracing his face.

Amber eyes brimming with unadulterated life gaze down at him, canopied by dark lashes. Kurt receives a smile in return. A beautiful smile, filled with love and adoration. One he denies to admit wanting, missing.

"Love." Blaine simply says.

His cheeks flush and his skin shimmers in the afternoon sun. In this moment, they are like dust in a sunbeam. Suspended from the weight of the world and spiraling in gleeful liberation, more than they actually are, but glittering all the same.

Kurt remembers feeling like this a lot. He remembers the weeks of endless sex and kisses. However, it's been a while since he's felt this…buoyant. Not to say he hasn't been happy, but happy and alive are two very different things.

Leaning down, he places the most light and tender kiss to Blaine's chest, just above his pulsating heart.

And that's when the mood shifts.

The sky turns dark and wave of anxiety rockets up Kurt's spine. The walls seem to deform, concaving and squeezing till it seems the oxygen is being vacuumed away. The floor feels slanted and a wormhole births in his gut.

"Kurt." Blaine says, calling his attention immediately.

His eyes, no longer gold and brilliant, darkened with fear. His cheeks become sallow and the vibrant sunshine instantly disappears. The world is dull and constricted.

Suddenly a flame ignites on Blaine's cheek, only to have more of his skin follow. Red and orange flames snake their way across his chest, devouring and devouring. Eating at his body with animalistic hunger.

"Blaine!" Kurt yelps.

He's paralyzed, he can't move. Still embraced in Blaine as his love begins to be consumed. The fire continues inching and inching, burning until Blaine's eyesight turns dark.

Soon his arms are alight, but the flames do not touch Kurt. His chest ablaze, but not Kurt. Blaine is being swallowed whole.

And just like that, the embers are shifted away by the wind. Ash is dematerialized and Kurt is alone, naked and exposed.

With a startled breath he shoots up from the bundle of blankets, sweat caking his skin and chest huffing with fright.

The world is normal. The atmosphere stiff and tangible, just like always.

Fatigued he lays back down, a pounding headache now lining his eyes.

Without reason or understanding Kurt begins to cry, sob, alone in his bed. He is unable to determine heads or tails; which is hard when you don't know what's better: dreams or life?

_**Please review and thanks for reading! :)**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Wow! I don't usually update this quickly or much, so...hopefully I can keep it up! I hope you enjoy this chapter and don't forget to review! :)**_

_**P.S. I don't claim to know anything about medicine, everything on here will be from google. sooo...yep.**_

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Blaine asks across the dinner table.

It's been four days. Four days and the mirror has been replaced, Kurt's cut bandaged and disinfected, the carpet stains are gone, and the phone is repaired, the beer bottles have been recycled and the bed is righted. Four days and neither man had brought the incident to light. There used to be a time when confessions were superficial, a concern of high school relationships or ripped clothing. There was a sense that nothing hung in the balance, everything equal and sweet.

Four days. And Blaine has been working extra hours, while Kurt stays at home…waiting.

Blaine works at a recording studio across town: "Blackbird Records." In fact, he's the head boss. It was always his dream to make music, and now he can sufficiently say he has succeeded. At least to the public eye; for in reality, Blaine did not account for what his dream job would entail. True, he assists in making music, but most of his hours are ingested by paperwork. Never did he suspect the equipment to need constant replacement, or for bickering musicians to require a new salary every month, or rent to steep with their growing success.

He supposes he should feel elated, they are finally on the map; producing tracks for R&B artists like _Mercedes Jones _and rock bands like _Pedestrian._ They have achieved recognition and are slowly, but steadily, gaining more and more hits.

But Blaine doesn't make music, does he? Truthfully, he watches others perform and write, sing out their souls and produce magical crescendos. He provides the stage and they make the show. He is now a part of the shadows, where only Kurt can see him.

Kurt, who after being an assistant designer for retired at the young age of 26. Age was a funny thing in the fashion business. Apparently, to outlive the models one either needed to be a true fashion designer, or a titan in skin. Which, unfortunately, was not Kurt's title. Hardworking? Prompt? Creative? Sure; but overall he lacked an apparently required spark of attitude. A ruthlessness that didn't affiliate with colors and patterns, it dominated everyone else and neglected the more romantic connotations. Kurt, much to his own chagrin, was unable to develop said characteristic and reluctantly stopped after receiving a handsome check of $15,000.00.

He spends his days writing a blog, something to tide the more ludicrous musings of his mind. It garners at least $300 per month, but pales in comparison to his glamorous vogue job. In all actuality, Kurt feels…hollow. He misses the adrenaline rush and ceaseless movement. Now he's stationary; an eclipsed moon. He watches Blaine go and come, whilst remaining at the unsteady desk in their living room.

"I got a call from Lima." Kurt states quietly, throat clogged.

"And?" Blaine inquires, fear beginning to thrum with each drawing minute Kurt remains silent. "Tell me."

"…Sebastian Smythe died." Kurt utters, tone scratched with melancholy.

Blaine stares back, perplexion and shock draining his face.

"He…He was beaten, gay-bashed. Trent, he um, called me." Kurt whispers. His eyes remain vacant, focusing on his reflection in the glassy tabletop. His expression carries a dead frown, heavy on the once passionate porcelain.

"Why?" Blaine finally says.

"I think he was trying to reach y-"

"No…why did you react the way you did?"

Kurt's voiceless, incapable of meeting Blaine's intimidating gaze. He feels hot and guilty, as if he had done the beating. Wooziness peeps behind his eyes, a familiar disorienting feeling.

"Kurt, why?" Blaine says firmly. "Please tell me." He concedes a minute later, now desperate for Kurt's attention.

"I-I, um, I don't know…I'm sorry."

With finality Blaine pushes his half-full plate away. A dish Kurt had spent 2 hours preparing, out of boredom and, admittedly, shame. He wipes his chin with the table napkin and stands up, walking across the table to Kurt's bent form, curled into him. Gently he kisses Kurt's head.

"I love you" He says, concern shining behind the pools of honey-brown.

"I love you, too" Kurt whispers back, voice now cracking with unshed tears.

"Let's go to bed."

" 'Kay, I'll be there in a minute. Have to clean up the table."

"Okay."

They both move away quietly. An awkward-worried hush has fallen upon them.

As Blaine climbs into bed he releases a content sigh at the cooling fabric against his bare back. Arms outstretched, they glide underneath Kurt's pillow, only to be met with a plastic container. Confused, he extracts a small bottle from it's hideout. And there, printed on the label reads:

_Kurt Hummel_

_Benzodiazepine. 25ml._

_Take by mouth once everyday._

Complete and utter shock.

At the creak of a floorboard he quickly hides the bottle back, just as Kurt enters the room with an unaware smile. As Kurt rounds the corner into the bathroom, Blaine can't help but stare. For the first time ever, he does not know who Kurt is, or more so, what he's become; what they've become.

_Please__** review**__** and thanks for reading!**_

_**TBC**_

_**P.S. thank you to anybody who commented or followed, it means a lot.**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey! So, I don't know if this is a filler chapter, or not, but I hope you enjoy anyway. Also, I wrote it kind of quickly, so...yeah. It might not be as good, but I hope it works. (one day I won't be so self-deprecating.) Thank you to all who have followed or reviewed, it really brightens my day :) (i should probably stop with the emoticons)**

**Thanks for reading and please REVIEW (EVEN IF IT'S CRITICISM)!**

_Come Celebrate the Life of_

_Sebastian Michael Smythe_

_Wednesday, February 13, 2020_

_3-5pm_

_Saint Mary's Baptist Church_

_105 Mount Pleasure Rd. Westerville, OH_

_Reception and Meal._

Kurt can't help but chuckle at the countless innuendoes running through his mind. '_Mount Pleasure, really?' _He thinks sarcastically_. 'Sebastian would have loved this.' _

The envelope is pinched between his wiry fingers, addressed to Mr. and Mr. Anderson. Despite the situation, Kurt feels a prickle of jealousy bite his cheeks. _'Always the alpha-gay' _an insecure, immature voice snidely states.

It's mid-afternoon and once again Kurt has nothing to do. He's gone shopping and updates his blog: .com. Dinner is marinating in the fridge and the laundry has been pressed and stacked away. He doesn't know when this monotony bleached his life. A life once vivacious and almost blaringly bright, almost too overwhelming with excitement. It was once a dream made reality. Now it's a memory turned dream.

He could call Rachel or Tina, his old high school friends, but they'd probably consumed by their own work and lives. Finn, his stepbrother, is most likely assisting Puck in attracting a girl with little clothing and brain cells. His dad is probably on a lunch date with Carol, an activity now granted with his recent retirement.

All in all, he's listless, aimless.

In truth, Kurt wants to pity himself; to feel abandoned and lost. However, Blaine had to leave and he…well, he was forced to stay. Because he no longer has to fret over coffee orders and pattern sizes, color combinations, and slimming cuts. Kurt is not a designer, he never will be.

For you see, Kurt was and always will be a dreamer. His romance with the bends and wisps of fabric apparently did not provide evidence towards a future as a mighty brand name. "You have to be tough, you can't get distracted"; they said. But he never understood. Why bother with the mechanical, stiff details? Why not be entangled with passion, seduced into new silhouettes; discover a unique accessory or revitalized a vintage pattern? Why not? "Because if you get lost in your head, you lose your footing and one step behind puts you in a casket lined with polyester."

Kurt sips his coffee ruefully. He needs action, any second longer in this confined apartment and he will surely crack.

With igniting adrenaline he gather his coat and wallet and exits the complex, greeting the chaotic city with almost child-like wonder. He feels 16 again, experiencing the bright, buzzing world with rejuvenated eyes. He can feel his skin tingle with unadulterated exhilaration and with a goalless mind he begins a random adventure.

* * *

"It's good to see you again, Blaine." Trent says across the bistro's table.

"Thanks, you too. I've missed you and all the old Warblers." Blaine responds amicably.

"Well they miss you…feels like a century since your and Kurt's wedding."

"Yeah, well…I've been busy, running the label and all."

"Right. So how has Kurt been?"

And then Blaine pauses. He doesn't actually know why, it's a reasonable question, but finding an answer is proving hard. How has Kurt been? He should know this, or at the very least form a convincing white lie. Nevertheless, he is frozen; paralyzed by the realization: He hasn't truly spoken to Kurt in a week and any response to Trent's inquiry would be presumptuous and ultimately a lie.

"Blaine?" Trent asks, breaking the hazy amber gaze. "You okay?"

"Uh, yeah, sorry, blanked out there." He shakes it off with a charming grin and lowered eyes.

Blaine focuses on the tiny perforations of his biscotti. He analyzes the crinkles and the hardened chocolate with intense attention; obviously trying to ignore Trent's worrisome stare.

Trent looks directly at the other man's bent head. "Blaine?"

"Hmm?" He hums, nonchalantly.

"What's going on?" Trent asks, fear inching.

"Nothing." He immediately states.

"Whatever it is you can tell me. I won't say anything, but you're kind of scaring me right now."

Reluctantly, Blaine sighs, unable to contain his distress. "I found pills underneath Kurt's pillow." He says, guilty.

"What?" Trent whispers, shocked.

"Benzodiazepine. It's a drug found in sleeping aids…I-I just don't know what's wrong and anytime I try to talk to him he just seems…seems, gone or something! I don't know what to do, Trent. I don't who he is, who I am. And then he had that panic attack and-"

"Wait! Panic Attack? Blaine, what's going on?!" Green eyes alight with sympathetic concern for both Blaine and his husband.

And with that Blaine crumples. He retells his discovery and how he was informed of Sebastian Smythe. He recalls Kurt's behavior and appearance. And eventually, he cries. Cries without understanding. He bawls to his old friend like a hysterical man facing death row. Because in all honesty, he feels like that; death, sickly and wrong has somehow nestled into his ribcage and caused his heart to splutter, his mind to fog, his life-once organized and picturesque-a dying ember.

Trent comforts him. This man who had been a leader, a metaphorical king. This boy who's star has fallen, and with it he fell too.

"I don't know what to do, Trent" Blaine croaks under streaming tears and a runny nose.

"I think, maybe, you should take a break. Go off, escape. You've been working too much and haven't seen your husband in far too long. Why don't you both just go on a vacation? Reconnect?"

Shakily breathing, Blaine nods his head in affirmation. "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea."

"Good. And Blaine?" Trent says, a friendly hand lying across his schoolmate's hunkered shoulders.

"Yeah?"

"You'll be okay. You and Kurt aren't disappearing or lost, you just…need to re-define yourselves, okay?"

"Sure."

Although, what does re-definition cost and what has already been abandoned in their change?

* * *

Kurt thanks the man with a gentle nod, pocketing an orange cylinder filled with colorful capsules. He plans to dream tonight, to dream on an endless stream.

**TBC**

**PS. i'll try to make the chapters longer**

**Once again, thanks for reading and please REVIEW!**


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